The Hook Up (Game On Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

sleep-depriving degree. When I close my eyes, I picture her. Hell, I picture her with my eyes open too.
    Mostly, I think of her in profile because that’s what I see when I watch her in class. The smooth arch of her graceful jaw, the rounded crest of her cheek that plumps when she smiles, the small, delicate shell of her ear. Curves. Anna is endless curves.
    In my mind, I map the pale column of her neck down to where it swoops out to one of her best curves: her breasts. Large. Fuller on the bottom so they give the illusion of pointing upward, and more than enough to fill my hands. Soft. I know they will be.
    I’m just enough of a shit that I long for the days when our classroom gets chilly and she wears one of those cotton shirts that does nothing to hide the points of her nipples pushing against the fabric. Damn, but that sight never fails to make me hard. I’m fairly dying for the chance to peel off her shirt and expose those nipples that so readily stiffen. I want to know their color, their exact size and texture. She’s fair-skinned, so they might be pale pink, but I’ve seen the shadows those sweet buds make beneath her white shirts, and I suspect they’re a nice tawny rose that will go darker when sucked.
    Yeah, I’m a sick bastard. But I doubt any guy would blame me. And I can’t help myself. When I’m not thinking about her breasts, or the narrow dip of her waist and the rounded curve of her fine ass, I’m thinking about her voice, that syrup-thick southern drawl that makes my skin prickle. I’m in the South now. Accents like hers surround me on a daily basis. Why it is that her voice affects me more than others, I don’t know. Nor do I care. She talks and I want to listen. Endlessly.
    I’ve got it bad. Bad enough to be sporting semi-wood in the middle of a crowded room. And she’s not even here.
    I take a sip of water, not really listening to the chatter around me. What does she do on her nights off? Frequent clubs? Hang out at a coffee house and chastise unsuspecting men on the unfairness of the glass ceiling? That makes me smile. I love the way her pert nose scrunches up when she’s irritated and her wide green eyes narrow into slits. Like she won’t hesitate to kick someone’s ass if she thinks they deserve it. Totally hot.
    The water I’m drinking is warm and tastes of plastic. I set the bottle down harder than necessary. An antsy, irritable feeling grows within me. I don’t want to be here. I’ve heard all these stories and jokes a thousand times before. And while I love my guys, I’m bored. I want to hunt down Anna Jones, rattle her cage, and see what she throws at me. But I don’t know where to start looking. And it pisses me off.
    I’m about to tell Gray that I’ll see him tomorrow, maybe hit the sack in an effort to at least try to get some needed sleep, when I feel a familiar tightening in my groin and along my back.
    I have no explanation for how or why it is that I know when she’s near. I just do. Like a magnet to metal, my body swivels and my head lifts. And there she is.
    Everything stops. My heart in my chest. My brain function. Fuck me sideways. Just someone stick a fork in me. I’m done. She isn’t in her standard t-shirt and jeans, or one of her soft little sweaters. She’s in some strappy top that barely contains her breasts, those creamy, beautiful breasts that bounce and jiggle with each step she takes. Those breasts are going to be the death of me. I’m afraid I’ve audibly groaned.
    And damn if I’m not the only one who’s noticed her. Too many eyes are glued to her chest. My hands clench. I’m no different than them, maybe worse, because I’ve made a habit of staring at her. But I’m itching to smack heads, send those eyes forward and off of her. I also have the sudden urge to whip off my shirt and tuck her into it.
    She makes her way farther into the room, and I see the skirt. A swishy black thing that clings and sways around her pale thighs. Strong yet soft